Dylan

By James France

For Eric Callows, losing his job was devastating. Forced to re-evaluate his life, he spends an afternoon at a local park to collect his thoughts. There he sees a young man swimming fully clothed, who introduces himself as Dylan. Unfortunately for Eric, Dylan is a narcissistic and vindictive man, and when an argument breaks out between them and Dylan is humiliated, he vows to never leave Eric alone. While Eric initially dismisses the threat, Dylan is determined to carry it through to the end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James France
• Release date: May 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223384670

Book preview

Chapter 1

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Eric Callows woke up at quarter past five in the morning to get ready for work. He always preferred to rise early because he wanted to miss the worst of the morning traffic. If he left for work too late the drive from Benoni, east of Johannesburg to Sandton in the north, he could spend anywhere between one and two hours in traffic, depending on whether there had been an accident or if one of local industry's unmaintained and decaying trucks had broken down. He swung his legs off the bed and curled his toes on the bedroom carpet, spending a minute curling and uncurling his toes and breathing rhythmically. He found this little ritual satisfying because he liked the feeling of the thick-pile carpet under his toes. 

After taking a shower, brushing his teeth, and getting dressed Eric opened the curtains, looking out at the glorious summer day. The sun had already risen and there were only a few clouds peppering the sky, offering no threat of rain. It looked like it would be a pleasant Monday, as far as Mondays went. He had a light breakfast of coffee, cereal and two fried eggs. The coffee was a good brand, aromatic and delectable, unlike the dreadful chicory-with-a-bit-of-coffee brand that was to be found in the kitchen at work. Satisfied that he was ready for the day, he picked up his laptop bag and opened the outside door. The warmth of the January day was already pleasant, and the aromas of the grass and the flowers watered by the previous night’s rain made him smile.

He lived in a granny flat at the back of a three-bedroomed suburban house on a quiet street. The flat had a combined lounge and kitchen, and a reasonably sized bedroom with an en-suite bathroom. Eric’s home was quite basic, but the monthly rental was cheap and he could tolerate its flaws. Sometimes in the evening he could hear his landlady’s cats mewling and screeching at the neighbours' cats. He wished that she would keep them in the house instead of letting them run around outside, singing the cats' choir. 

The large living room spanned the breadth of the flat and exposed a structural fault. On opposing walls of the living room were large cracks, in line with each other, and following a similar track down the wall running from floor to ceiling. The cracks were most likely the result of subsidence, but Eric was not worried that the flat would collapse, or that a sinkhole would swallow the place whole like a whale eating plankton. His landlady was known to him as Mrs van der Walt; he had never known her first name. She was prim and proper in the old-fashioned way, but Eric enjoyed her company and was often invited into the house for coffee and a chat.

Mrs van der Walt lived in the main part of the house with her nine-year old grand-daughter, Emily. She had gained custody of Emily when the court declared her parents to be unfit to look after their own child. Having unemployed, marijuana-smoking parents who hoarded so much rubbish in the house that you could not see the floor was not deemed a suitable environment for a child to grow up in. Even living under the protection of her grandmother, Emily had recently found that she could not be protected from everything. 

Three weeks ago, she was riding her bicycle in the street when the front wheel ditched into a pothole, throwing her over the handlebars and onto the unforgiving tarmac. She had sustained a fracture in her right femur, and she was now hobbling around on a pair of crutches. The doctor had told Mrs van der Walt that Emily was lucky that the bone had not shattered, in which event she would have needed surgery.

Eric put the laptop bag in the boot of his car and opened the driver's door, sliding in behind the wheel for another battle with the morning's rush-hour traffic. The car was a late model blue BMW 135i with a host of standard luxury features, optional luxury features and a powerful engine. The car was beyond what he could afford to buy on his salary and was a source of envy from some of his work colleagues. If he had to buy a car on his salary, he would be driving an old banger of some description, which would need lots of attention on the weekends to make it through the following week.

After his parents’ death nearly a year ago he had inherited a sizable sum of money from their estate. Being a young man, he had wanted to drive a fast car, buy nice things and party a lot, and he had given little thought to saving his money. His sister, Stephanie, had inherited and moved into their parents' house. Eric’s brother, Stephen, had gained a similar sum of money to Eric's and had used some of it to move to Australia. He was a software developer with enough experience to land a well-paying job in Sydney, where he had lived for the past ten months. Stephanie seemed to have gained the lion’s share of the estate and the life insurance payment, but there had been no bickering about it. 

Eric’s parents had been killed in a road accident. At least the police road accident investigator had ruled it as an accident. His parents had been driving home one evening after a night out at the theatre. While driving on the main road on the outskirts of the suburb of Farrarmere a car travelling at least twice the speed limit (according to witnesses) had veered into their lane and hit their car head-on. Eric’s parents and the other driver had all been killed on impact. The other driver, identified as a twenty-nine-year-old man named Frik Stols, had likely been enjoying one of those parties that social workers warn school kids about. His autopsy had revealed that his blood contained dangerous levels of fentanyl and alcohol. If he had just stayed at home that night and gone to sleep the dosage alone might have killed him.

Eric was the youngest of the three Callows children. Stephen was three years older than Eric, and they had always been good friends. Eric had kept in contact with Stephen through emails and frequent video calls made with Zoom. 

Eric's relationship with Stephanie had never been very close. She was twelve years older than Eric and her treatment of him had been more maternal than sisterly. Five years ago, Stephanie had married a lawyer called Clive Wilson who seemed like a decent sort, but Eric did not have a close relationship with him because of the tension between himself and Stephanie. Being unmarried with no plans to marry any time soon, Eric still sometimes thought of Stephanie as being a Callows, rather than a Wilson. Stephen was still a bachelor who enjoyed the social scene in Sydney and liked to play the field with the young ladies.

Eric drove to Braycon Paint Industries, where he worked as a systems programmer. He had followed a career in programming because he had seen the success that Stephen had enjoyed and wanted some of that for himself. Eric was still a junior developer, hungry for experience and the opportunity to grow his career like Stephen had. A constant source of frustration was that the company just saw information technology as a necessary evil, and the department staff were paid salaries which were below the typical market level. Eric sometimes wondered if he had picked the right career because he found the work to be boring and repetitive, and he felt that even after just over a year he felt that his career had already stagnated. 

Despite the relatively light traffic Eric exercised his usual measure of caution when he was behind the wheel. His parents' death was a constant reminder that a life could end at any time and without warning. South Africa has a very poor road safety record, and as a result, road accidents are the leading cause of non-natural deaths in the province of Gauteng. With all of this in mind Eric was too timid to drive quickly or to take unnecessary risks. 

Sometimes he wondered why he had bought the zippy BMW, as he never explored its full performance potential. He supposed that one advantage of the car was that it had some pulling power with the ladies. Women liked guys with nice cars - it was just a fact. Driving in the fast lane of the freeway was like being in a NASCAR race. The painted lane boundary was just a couple of feet away from the concrete central barrier, and often there was a car closer to Eric’s rear bumper than it was to the barrier. He did not use the slow lane because it was taken up by wheezing trucks that struggled to climb the slightest incline. Eric usually found the middle lane to be hogged by slow drivers who did not seem to understand the concepts of proper lane usage and traffic flow. Once he was off the freeway the traffic in Sandton was another adventure. Marlboro Road had two lanes which were always congested, but the minibus taxi drivers somehow always found another lane, whether it was between the two existing lanes or on the pavement.

***

After enduring this chaotic rat race for fifty minutes Eric finally arrived at work. He swiped his access card at the main gate and parked in the underground parking lot. He walked up the stairs to the third-floor systems department, preferring this bit of exercise to using the lift, which had been known to get stuck on more than one occasion. 

When he had started working for Braycon Paint Industries he was impressed by the fact that he had his own office with a view over the landscaped garden. Having his own office gave him a feeling of importance. He knew that his position in the company was a lowly one, but his office made him feel like an executive. In most companies the systems programmers were bunched together in an open-plan office, where there was often some dissent over what setting the air conditioning system should be on, and whether it was proper for people to eat at their desks. 

Braycon Paint Industry's building was just two years old, and it had not been designed to accommodate a large open-plan office. It had been built with comfort in mind, most likely to the consternation of the accounting department. The hallways and offices had decent carpets, there were facilities such as well-equipped kitchens and vending machines, and there were massive expanses of glass which gave people a good view of the landscaped gardens and the N1 freeway beyond.

As usual Eric started his workday by starting his laptop and going to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee while the computer went through the process of starting Windows, opening the anti-virus and various other applications which the company had installed. Sometimes he wished that the company would get some modern computer equipment because his laptop must have been about six years old. On one occasion Eric’s boss and systems manager, Andy Platt, had brought up the issue with the information technology director, Richard Owen, whose reply was to the effect that the company’s business was paint manufacture, and that the computers did what they were needed to do. Some people in the department had commented that the company had overspent on the offices and were having to cut costs elsewhere.

Eric was sure that Owen's money-saving strategies had earned him a good Christmas bonus and helped to ensure his job security. Eric had never liked Owen because he was egomaniacal and a high-and-mighty authoritarian. He did now allow junior staff to address him by his first name, and he always wore grey suits that were plain but crispy pressed. Owens’ grey suits made Eric imagine him as a high-ranking Nazi Party officer.

Eric returned from the kitchen with his cup of bad coffee which had no aroma and a bearable, but not good, taste. He opened his web browser as he did first thing every day to check his emails and see if there were any Facebook and Twitter updates from his friends and interest groups. He had 143 friends on Facebook, and 305 Twitter followers, most of whom he would never actually meet in real life. He had gained most of his online followers by talking about current events, exotic places, exotic cars, and sharing random thoughts with other people.

After twenty minutes of web-surfing and catching up with his Facebook and Twitter accounts he heard Andy Platt walking down the corridor. Eric knew it was him before he saw him because Andy was one of those people with a distinct walk, which was heavy footed but swift. 

Eric closed his Internet browser while Andy poked his head around his office door and said, ‘Good morning, Eric. Did you have a good weekend?’

Andy stood in the doorway, mostly filling the frame. He was a big man, a good few inches over six feet and his full frame was evidence of a lifestyle that did not involve missing any meals. His dark hair was neatly cropped and he always wore a green bow tie to work, which was more of a character expression than office formality.

‘It was great, thanks. I went clubbing with the guys,’ Eric replied. ‘How are you today?’

‘I am well enough, thanks, just another Monday. Did you finish that thing on Friday?’

That thing. Eric paused for a few seconds to try to decipher the question, as there were millions of things in the world. Sometimes it was hard to tell what Andy was talking about, as he had a bad habit of being vague by referring to tasks as that thing, or that job. His meetings were often conducted with people he referred to as who’s it? or thingy. Andy's patchy memory was a source of amusement among the department staff, and no doubt an annoyance to the more senior managers he had to report to.

‘Oh, do you mean the changes to the entry screen for the paint formulations? Yes, I have finished and tested it. I think that it’s ready for user testing.’

‘That’s very good. Please ask, erm... you know, Rachael to look at it when she comes in. We need this to go live today.’

‘Will do. Oh, and how's your dog?’ Andy’s terrier had been hit with a glancing blow by a passing car the previous week. The dog had bolted out of Andy’s yard and run into the road when Andy had opened the gate. 

‘He’s recovering nicely, thanks,’ Andy replied. ‘It turned out that the car barely grazed him. There are no broken bones. I don't think that he will be rushing out into the street again. He still seems to be a bit shaken up.’

‘That’s good to hear. Things could have been a lot worse. He’s a lucky dog.’ 

‘He certainly is. Oh, before I forget I have some other work for you to do. Just give me a short while then I will get back to you. Remember to speak to Rachael, won't you?’

Rachael Sanders was a beautiful twenty-four-year-old software tester who Eric found very attractive and charming. She had shoulder-length auburn hair, brown eyes, a small nose, a cute smile which made Eric think of a chipmunk, and a body that had been sculpted by many hours of jogging. 

Eric was not usually shy around girls, but Rachael turned him into jelly for some reason that he could not work out. Often he felt too shy to say much more than ‘hi’ to Rachael in social conversation. All he seemed to be able to do was to ogle her when she was not looking. Eric found that frustrating because he had enjoyed his fair share of sexual relationships with other women. Rachael was not like the other women that Eric had been with. She was the most beautiful and charming woman he had ever spoken to, and she seemed to be on a plinth that was too high for him to climb.

An hour after Andy’s short while had started the offices of the systems department were full of the other staff, who usually arrived at times varying between seven-thirty and nine o’clock. Eric spent a moment to say good morning to his fellow programmers and then walked into Rachael’s office to ask her to test his paint formulations screen. Today she was wearing a black miniskirt with a complimentary purple blouse which had a hint of blue, and black high heels. Her perfume hit Eric's nose with the grace of a breeze of wind in a beautiful valley filled with flowers. 

‘Hi Rachael. I’ve just been talking to Andy. Can you test that paint formulations screen please?’ Eric cringed inwardly at his stiffness.

She smiled her chipmunk smile and said, ‘Sure. I’ll be glad to see what marvels you have performed.’ 

Eric blushed slightly and said, ‘Thank you. I hope you'll be dazzled.’ He was thinking of asking Rachael if she wanted to go to the canteen with him later for lunch, a question that frustrated him because he had not been able to work up the nerve to ask for even such a trivial encounter. It was not as if he was asking her out on a date or a wild week in the Maldives. 

He must have been thinking for longer than he realised because she asked him, ‘Is anything wrong? You seem distracted by something.’ 

He blushed a deep red and stammered, ‘I-I’m sorry. Um, I was just thinking of something, you know, letting my mind wander. Ah! Found it!’ 

Rachael giggled and said, 'Eric, you can be so funny sometimes. I’ll let you know when I have checked your work.' 

Eric smiled at her sheepishly and scampered back to his office, feeling quite foolish and frustrated at his shyness around Rachael.

Eric did not have lunch with Rachael as he hoped that he would do one day. Usually, he ate a full canteen meal with a few work acquaintances - he did not have any real work friends, just acquaintances. Today he just wanted to be alone after his bumbling attempt to ask Rachael for lunch, so he bought a chicken sandwich from the canteen and ate it at his desk. Eric spent his lunch break chatting online on his Facebook and Twitter accounts and browsing some of his favourite Internet sites. In fact, he had spent a lot of the morning randomly browsing the Internet and playing Solitaire because Andy’s short while had been extended by back-to-back meetings.

After lunch Eric was bored as he was a lot of the time at work, being either left without work to do, or given work that any computer-literate person could do. During Eric's bored state he thought of Rachael and imagined what she would look like naked and what she would be like to sleep with. Eric's mind was filled with lecherous thoughts, and he felt the desire to look for some erotic websites to satiate his feelings of lust. He paused for a moment because he was not sure if employees' Internet usage was monitored, but he gave in to his desire because his thoughts of Rachael had given him an erection and he craved more stimulation. He figured that everybody had more serious jobs to do than follow his every movement, and that he should be safe to explore the kinkier regions of the Internet for just a short while.

He opened the search engine and searched for phrases such as kinky, naked, hot and wet and sex. It appeared that no restrictions had been installed on the company's web servers because his search yielded plenty of websites with pictures of topless women. Eric found some photos of fully naked women, but many websites would only expose their choicest pictures and videos if you were willing to disclose your credit card details. 

He found a search result that was entitled Sexy and Wet. He clicked on the link and was taken aback to see that it was a gay site full of pictures of young men in their late-teens to mid-twenties. One man was wearing wet jeans and sporting a muscular torso. There was a picture of a handsome blond man with impossibly smooth skin, who was wearing a white cloth that had been tied into a thong. He was standing under an apparently man-made waterfall, posing with his hands behind his neck and his torso leaning slightly to the left for effect. A third picture showed two naked men in their late-twenties sitting on a bench with their arms around each other's waists. One of them had his free hand covering his crotch and the other was covering his nether-regions with a baseball cap. Feeling embarrassed at what he was seeing, Eric clicked a link that was labelled Get me out! It's too hot here!!!!. 

He was presented with a new screen with a message at the top: Sorry to see you go. Here's something to tempt you back. Taking up the rest of the screen was a close-up picture of the crotch of a model wearing unzipped wet jeans, with his penis erect and standing proud of the open zip. Eric blushed when he saw the picture and felt relieved that nobody had wandered into his office while his attention had been taken up by his web browsing. Shaking his head, he reached for his mouse to click the Home button on the web browser and muttered, 'Big boner and nowhere to stick it.' He chuckled to himself.

Before Eric touched the mouse Andy appeared in his office doorway and asked, 'Sorry, did you say something?' 

'Oh no, I was just talking to myself,' Eric replied. He hoped that Andy would not notice the blush in his cheeks.

‘It's time for our weekly staff meeting. I forgot to send out an invitation.’ 

Eric thanked God that Andy could only see the back of his monitor. Eric stood up absently and walked to the right side of his desk, and gasped as he realised that he had forgotten the picture on his screen. Andy asked Eric if he was alright, to which he replied that he had a bit of indigestion. He hastily grabbed the mouse with his left hand and clicked the top-right corner of the screen to close the web browser. They both walked to the boardroom together, chatting about the busy day that Andy had had so far.

The staff meeting was the usual weekly meeting, which Eric saw as a waste of productive time, even though he had no work to do at the moment. The systems developers all met with Andy to discuss projects on the go and projects to come, as well as smaller jobs that needed doing. As in most weekly staff meetings, about ten or twenty minutes of useful information was discussed in the space of an hour. The rest of the meeting consisted of team members' stories of their personal lives, along with some lame jokes. As usual, there were a few giggles when Andy referred to somebody as thingy before recalling the person’s name. Eric only showed some interest when some work was finally allocated to him, about six hours after Andy had said that he would give him some work in a short while.

When the meeting was finally over Eric returned to his office to start the task that had been given to him. Eric had been assigned a job to make a small change on over thirty system screens. Due to a former junior programmer's sloppiness the r had been omitted from the Braycon part of the company’s name, so that it showed up as Baycon. In the meeting the staff had laughed with Eric about his bacon job. At least the humour had cheered him up a bit. Eric's mood started dropping again as he thought of taking on yet another simple and repetitive job which offered no challenge whatsoever. This donkey work was the type of work that frustrated him; it was not the serious systems development work that he was eager to get stuck into.

When Eric sat down behind his desk, he was horrified to see a sheet of A4 paper attached to the laptop with some Sellotape, covering the screen. Eric sat for over a minute, looking at the paper. A single word had been written on it in large letters with a bold marker pen: BUSTED! 

***

Eric removed the sheet of paper, scrunched it up and threw it into the bin. He sat in a trance-like state of shock, knowing that he had made a terrible mistake by searching for erotic websites. Eric was shaken from his trance by the sound of a few people laughing at the far end of the corridor. Less than a minute later he heard the laughing grow louder as other people seemed to have gathered at the end of the corridor. He left his office to see what the big joke was, knowing that it must be related to the BUSTED sign. 

In the corridor he saw a fellow programmer, Jake Richmond, bending over